{"id":4637,"date":"2010-08-30T04:15:23","date_gmt":"2010-08-30T08:15:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/?p=4637"},"modified":"2010-08-29T20:28:21","modified_gmt":"2010-08-30T00:28:21","slug":"kali-claude-yug-pelieu-express-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/kali-claude-yug-pelieu-express-5\/","title":{"rendered":"Kali Claude Yug P\u00e9lieu Express 5"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n
\"\"<\/a>

Mary Beach & Claude P\u00e9lieu<\/p><\/div>\n

Claude P\u00e9lieu : KALI YUG EXPRESS<\/span><\/h3>\n

Translated by Mary Beach<\/p>\n

(continued\u2026)<\/p>\n

A PROGRAMMED DREAM<\/strong><\/p>\n

The technician sprays toxic and lethal gases. The CEO shuffles a few pages and starts to speak.
\n\u201cGentlemen, the American astronauts will return in perfect shape, SKY LAB is a success. We\u2019re at the dawn of the year 2000, and our enhanced gadgets don\u2019t fight with the flow of history, besides that isn\u2019t the problem, the problem is, uh, well let\u2019s say that it is extravagant, if it be that our capitalist society that permitted the expansion of all consciousness and our trips into space\u201d\u2026 applause\u2026 \u201cthat our society allowed the most audacious arts to infuse new blood into a whole generation, and that thousands of young people, among our finest technicians, were able to experiment with every kind of drug in spite of the uh-prohibition, well, I think that unadapted people have a right to happiness and the Freudian plus-value\u2026 Marxists have disgusted the youth of every country, and now we must adapt, change, and ALL that, Gentlemen, we can only go forward, with more and more freedom\u201d\u2026 Applause\u2026 \u201cso, I say , that those who wish to enjoy their incredible backwardness, take no part in the democratic brain trust, the exercise of liberties that democracy demands will have nothing to do with their aberrant convictions and their nostalgia\u2026 Oh, I know that the war machine can still function, but it can\u2019t really affect us\u2026 even the Western proletariat loots the Third World\u201d\u2026 laughter\u2026 exclamations\u2026 \u201cGentlemen, there will be no revolution in the sense that the stupid left wingers understand it, and I think that it is unbelievable luck for the revolutionaries, and, besides, I think they will soon realize that the bastards weren\u2019t those\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cThere were ants in the hearse!\u201d, exclaimed the union delegate.
\n\u201cOh, you, that\u2019s enough, go and tell that to your flocks!\u201d
\n\u201cI even wonder if there will be a few fine days for us\u201d, murmurs the Prime Minister sitting in his bathtub, contemplating his little celluloid boats.
\n\u201cThose eyes undress you! Justice is done!\u201d, yells another delegate.
\n\u201cI accuse!\u201d grunts the doorman visibly drunk.
\n\u201cJust the justice of the people\u2026\u201d, the character hidden behind a curtain doesn\u2019t finish his sentence. A ton of sadness spreads throughout that congress. Joe Allegro, one of the principal stockholders wasn\u2019t there.
\nThe CEO continues\u2026
\n\u201cCalm down, Gentlemen, calm down\u2026 Let\u2019s see now, what the youth market is offering us\u2026 but let\u2019s not take Europe into account, except for Great Britain\u2026 popstars are committing grave errors, they confuse the mud of abundance with the gold of time\u2026 those new myths, uh, for better or worse, hey we have our own fantasies, don\u2019t we?\u2026 I mean the popstars aren\u2019t profitable anymore\u2026 no more than anti-missiles, warheads with multiple heads, orbital bombs, carriers or missile interceptors, no more than the bacteriological and psychochemical offensives, only meteorological projects that provoke climatic catastrophes hold our attention\u2026 but will our environments resist the escalation?\u201d\u2026
\nACTION \u2014 general rehearsal in underdeveloped zones. Objective No 1\u2026 who cares, they\u2019re not White\u2026 experimental non-violent repression on trial in urban and suburban volumes\u2026 ACTION\u2026 nothing to fear from militants and diverse groups\u2026 Hippies have found jobs and have grown old\u2026 universities, fashions, research, advertising, Dick Tracy, TV, etc, nothing to fear from liberated bourgeoisie, nothing to fear from western Communists\u2026 ACTION\u2026 we\u2019re going to be able to liquidate our Madison Avenue MGM and RCA stocks with the retarded Europeans\u2026 ACTION\u2026 population explosions, global segregation\u2026 we won\u2019t tolerate official subversion, and all that seems quite reasonable to us.
\nLet\u2019s not forget to emphasize vacations and leisure, that\u2019s really a revolutionary act\u2026 right and left wingers are under our control, those retarded minority layers are living their last minutes, let them rot\u2026 ACTION \u2014 no more classical repression, liberate those Blacks, all of them, quickly reclassify those suicide candidates\u2026 besides we have the time to see it happen.
\n\u201cA little blue flower in the red flag, Sir?\u201d
\n\u201cThanks, young man, I\u2019m a socialist of the belle \u00e9poque\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cAnd what about me, I\u2019m left wing, and I feel good in my skin\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m right wing who feels good in the world\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you, young man? At your age, one feels good anywhere, no?\u201d
\n\u201cYou? Yes, you!\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m legitimately worried, oh, not a theoretical anxiety, no crisis, no\u2026 anyway, I hope it lasts\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cA very fine statement concerning reality, my dear, remind me of your name?\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you, continue to campaign in my favor\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cYou know, there are discontent people all over\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cWell, good night, I\u2019m overjoyed, at least, you know what you\u2019re talking about\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cWell, good night, let\u2019s say that we live in a world difficult to understand\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cYou know, a new washing machine, a new color photocopier are much more important than the riots in the ghettoes, besides, look carefully at the screen , do you see that street? Those young people singing the International in Paris and in Tokyo, well, the police does its job well\u2026 we\u2019ve acquired the exercise of democracy and liberty, don\u2019t throw that unique acquisition away\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cOf course, the obsessions and neuroses of individuals with collective unimportance don\u2019t interest us, not important if he takes her in the ass or in the urinal? with or without peppers? We\u2019re free, you got it?\u201d
\nACTION \u2014 a green flash pushes the travelers back into yesterday, the last stop for the managers of the revolution, dream chronicles, we didn\u2019t believe in it anymore\u2026 a sexual howl in the bloody trunk, silence, music, big lights in the pink window\u2026 We don\u2019t give a fuck about their sexual problems, here, we light up inwardly, we come or not\u2026 we aren\u2019t going to start over \u2014 English twilight carries an old address around, a few pissy bubbles burst in the sun \u2014 there are no surprises upon waking up\u2026
\nA honey echo, emotion as pure as a drop of dew.
\nThe sky unfolds its cloth. A cowboy song comes out of a jar full of mint leaves. Cassettes sing-song, televisions split, the shadow loots mirrors.
\nThere\u2019s nothing left, we\u2019re on the brink of vacillating with neon\u2026 no explanation need be given to one or the other, you can\u2019t change their lives or transform their worlds against their wills\u2026 ACTION \u2014 recoil instinctively\u2026 A hanged man lifts the curtain and shits in the prompter\u2019s box, and before the three knocks reveals his stiff prick\u2026 a CEO shows off, stars are startled in the sexual mist\u2026 artists and revolutionaries become more and more indispensable to the established order \u2014 what is happening in the world? nothing, not much, every subject haunts the Universe, mutant-clairvoyants advance \u2014 without a look at the blind terror and conformity sleepwalkers and robots go to the cashier. What more is there to say?<\/p>\n

THE GREAT FUCK<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ray lifted Ida\u2019s legs to examine her twat. He was on his knees, caressing the plump mound covered with curly nut-colored fur. He put his hand between her thighs and gently caressed her clitoris. She disengaged herself, turned over, and lips bumped into Ray\u2019s penis who was sucking her conscientiously. Rapidly a sharp pleasure made him shudder. His prick was completely in her mouth, and he managed to return her caresses. Then he took her alternately in the butt and the cunt. They came together enjoying the same delights, discharging painfully\u2026 Hermione entered the room and covered them with her lips. Ida grabbed Hermione and sucked for her for a long time, shoving her tongue like a serpent in her streaming cunt. Ray didn\u2019t take long to get hard again, and he serviced Hermione the same way in the ass and cunt. Then he spread her thighs roughly, Ida took his cock between her lips, and at the same time finding Hermione\u2019s butt, she shoved two fingers in her rectum\u2026 then tickled her with her tongue\u2026 they were abundantly wet and Ray fucked Ida, her cunt swallowing his cock, Hermione caressed Ray\u2019s balls, then they came like madmen, fainting with pleasure.
\nThe boys (when they weren\u2019t jacking off among themselves) were assaulting girls all the time. That sexual misery, and the many forms of repression, doesn\u2019t, I think, have much to do with class struggles, in spite of what they say in informed circles\u2026 The photocopier replaces the orgasm and Xerox brings another kind of civilization to us\u2026 flabby thinking is diffused by ideological services only impoverish sex and its market \u2014 pathetic symphony in the crappers of high schools and stations \u2014 a mammoth explosion shakes the planet\u2026 repression and transgression appear simultaneously, speech is completely shattered, unpredictable reactions begin and end in the present, and spread over events and environments\u2026 the dominant structures of a system that strangely resembles the one created by groups that are hostile to it\u2026 Death and come remain in their throats, the better and the worst are in their heads.
\nThe Japanese cop who arrested Juju in Los Angeles was also a pianist, a pure artist floating in the sunset in Surf City.
\nEarly morning stratus flying over nuclear installation in New Mexico.
\nAn ignoble attack forces a national spermatic emission to flow.
\nACTION \u2014 the deposed emir was jacking off in a bordello in Timbuktu, while the stoned Fedayeens shit in his oil wells. In Zurich silly Hippies demonstrated for peace \u2014 a video orgasm pushed back the neo-Nazi counter-demonstrators\u2026 there are dreams we don\u2019t remember, and that\u2019s a good thing\u2026 On the sexual battlefield of sleep, the dreamer is plunges into a bath of vapor\u2026 the most committed militants are never really taken seriously, especially by their adversaries\u2026 reactions are mixed.
\nACTION \u2014 young, rather ugly and ungainly girls go door to door selling, an explanation campaign, the pill, abortion, social security, the friend of the foetus, the great zygomatic, etc\u2026 lesbians exhausted by street fighting, attack lonely men and emasculate them, left wing housewives organize a faggot hunt\u2026 \u201call this is comical and quite enervating,\u201d said a liberal who contests the sisters\u2019 capabilities \u2014 Paulo, an ex-motorcyclist who had become a rock singer in a suburban nightclub, organized very special gang-bangs with innocent girls\u2026 he would deflower them with his Bic pen and cut their cracks with his teeth \u2014 drowning in grease spots and used Kleenexes, Paulo rushed forward and glided, yelling with pleasure on his toboggan incrusted with dildos. Billy Bud traveled with his sexual demonstrations packed in a suitcase\u2026 grave consequences between the lines of risky strength\u2026 I hummed the latest tune, \u201cYou\u2019re dirty but you\u2019re handsome\u201d.
\nACTION \u2014 a young man smoked leaning against a billboard. Bare chest. pre-faded blue jeans and red leather boots. Black hair cut very short. His flabby lips were surrounded by pubic hairs. Ray felt a little sick\u2026 a light breeze played in the silvery-green eucalyptus foliage. Onan City was lit up. The Frisco Bay, and over there, further on, Oakland, crushed by the lights of Berkeley\u2026 Ray thought that, in fact and in spite of everything, that it was better to live in New York or in Los Angeles, even London, with the conduction of being able to jump in a plane, every week, and fly into the heart of the Blue Mountains, or onto the beaches of the State of Virginia\u2026 Sexual extinction and curfew, police and military patrols and all the anxious and badly built people ready to lynch you\u2026 Ray and the boy were standing on a pontoon\u2026 accidentally Ray\u2019s hand touched his belly. The boy\u2019s hand grasped his cock, and he fell on his knees, his warm lips closed over Ray\u2019s prick, his tongue caressing him slowly \u2014 the seagulls squawked \u2014 Ray held back, a trembling hardon, shuddering as he stroked the shaved neck, digging further into that delicious, exciting mouth. Ray couldn\u2019t hold on any longer and he discharged in five long pulsations. The boy swallowed his burning come, groaning and suffocating. Then they stretched out on an inflatable mattress. Ray took off his blue jeans, stroking his tiny balls, as round as plums. They kissed and Ray tasted his own sperm \u2014 Another hardon. The boy\u2019s penis was small but adequate\u2026 Ray jacked him off delicately and with his other hand caressed his ass, the assholes of the unknown kid dilated, retracted, and Ray took him in the ass, back and forth in the luscious scabbard. All around, young people were caressing each other, buggering, couples were fucking furiously, moaning and crying under the orange and black sky, blotted out by the San Francisco neons. Heavy waves break against the rocks and the surf came to caress the barge.
\nOperation \u201cIT\u2019S NEVER TOO LATE TO SEDUCE\u201d\u2026 last reel\u2026 we\u2019ll never talk about it again\u2026 the ration of time for solitude is no longer available.
\nI was Ray a long time ago, straddling a piece of ice. Finished in a reanimation booth. Finished in the American zoo. Rowing in olive oil and a hot fudge sundae, straddling a Polaris-turd, celebration Valentine\u2019s Day with the red dykes.
\nRed dimensions bursting through the haze, set the nylon landscape on fire. God tried to photograph something, like the Abyss Gang.
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

ASSASSINS WORK OVERTIME<\/strong><\/p>\n

Notices and small posters, it\u2019s forbidden to throw beer cans into the barbed wire. Paint your ghettos green, Jazz up your hovels with psychedelic posters, avenging posters were plastered on the walls of the city, along with the usual publicity, so subversive and demented.
\nA gigantic prick pierces the clouds and showers the city with cosmic sperm, an intergalactic anus defecates on the creations of man.
\nPeople fight in the streets.
\nThere is obviously another solution, Stoned Intersection, a shabby hotel room, an unmade bed, greenish sheets, sachets of heroin, spoons, syringes, matchbooks, cotton balls, speed and barbiturates\u2026 all that shit spread out on the bed\u2026 I smoked a bit, I had a few bennies, and I left\u2026 in a bar I drank five or six Vodka martinis\u2026 I felt better\u2026 I could no longer look at those bits of blood-stained cotton, those eye-droppers full of coagulated resin, those filthy needles, I could no longer see those guys and those girls, nor \u2014 the hell of heroin, coma, cramps, grey flashes stirred inside bubbles, the withered, pierced veins under your abscessed flesh \u2014 if we could only use a telecommunication satellite to wholly film and project at random the arrival of bubbles, overdose fixes, and the thousands of junkies in a single flash, any old pad, on any old continent, in any old highschool can, in any old prison\u2026 ACTION \u2014 I see a guy getting a fix in San Miguel, the needle trembled, the great mondo vision shot, and all the maniacal mythology of the universe of drugs\u2026 everyone should know that \u2026 Nothing happens, nothing in that universe, as soon as that filth has hooked you for good\u2026 five tons of rotten heroin is consumed in the USA in a year, poisoned LSD, over-priced grass is trafficked, murderous amphetamines, synthetic alcohol\u2026 a grey scream in the cold dawn where a thousand transparent silhouettes vacillate. The leprous anxiety emerging from the fog laden with metallic dust, a vague shock in the gelatin, shattered multicolored neon swimming in black blood, desolate and sinister zones of survival and panic, sticky wrinkles, slimy clots of sadness, a vague shock, the embers fry you vertically. If it tempts you, amuses you, engulfs you now in the Snow Subway, in the artificial dawn soaked by the blood of thousands of junkies bursting into torches, those thousands of suffering people who have no stories to tell, like Murphy and Floyd, dead for such a long time, with Skag and Jones, officially lying in the morgue for little powder mixed by Mol & Mort\u2026 I left that shabby bar and I smoked two joints in the parking lot. Then I took a taxi.
\nLike many people Doctor Rubin was undecided and troubled.
\nA rock group, The Fat Flower, and the demonologists of the Pentagon were dazzled by a porn lightshow staged by THE Wet Dykes.
\nA tear on the screen \u2014 the actor Pierre Clement is condemned by an Italian tribunal for usage and possession of drugs, the funeral of a Catholic priest in Ireland, Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti make a stop over in Honolulu, President Nixon stops over in Alaska, fights in Paris, Milan and Rome, John Sinclair is freed, wave of arrests in the countries in the East, murderous fights between Palestinians and Israelis, clamp of tension over the whole planet, a Soviet poet leaves a psychiatric hospital, declared cured by the authorities \u2014 in the minds of one and the other all the battles were either won or lost, their demanding formulas chase reality.
\nA soulless doll passes in front of the automatic distributor of condoms, two guys argue about a parking spot.
\nImages created by ideological services experts lean on a network of contradictions. Once again I was right, and so were you. A network of absurdities. as some consumers might say, consumers who have views about everything and nothing, like you and me\u2026 As soon as they organize your leisure they\u2019re persuaded that they have freed you. A rebel in a coma speaks to us of the inconsequence of democracy. \u201cI don\u2019t know anything and don\u2019t want to know,\u201d he repeats fiddling with his paint bomb.
\nThe Wet Mops, a symphonic orchestra attacks the first measure of Kibbutz Flower.
\n\u201cAssassins work overtime!\u201d
\nA veteran, tied onto his emergency chamber pot with security belt and all, cries out:
\n\u201cLet our dead sleep in peace!\u201d
\nA grey and brown rainbow, large flakes of grated cheese fall. Operation \u2018GAMMA SUCCESS GUARANTEED\u2019, cops and demonstrators are absorbed by electromagnetic vibrations and plunge into infrared and ultraviolet.
\nChromatic information passed under the noses of a generation too preoccupied with choosing clothes at the Oriental Pearl. The information agents didn\u2019t have much to do, if not to film, tape, classify and transmit. The electric activities of poets were drowned in adrenalin, they felt no dangers for the established order. (It was sad to see them talk gibberish on stage, holding greasy bits of paper in their hands, sputtering in mikes smeared with Dijon mustard, sad, in spite of total consciousness and the Immense Trip they are incapable of explaining to the world in which they find themselves)\u2026 it pleases me to see those guys embark on a pierced raft for a long cruise\u2026
\nACTION \u2014 the Sperm Hotel, Chelsea\u2026 artists, militants, dealers, CIA and FBI agents, crazies, Puerto Ricans whores, and Cuban drug-dealers\u2026 the situation deteriorated quickly, the belle \u00e9poque was over, musicians went elsewhere, everyone was perfect\u2026 rapes, murders, break-ins, regrettable incidents, absolutely disgusting people took care of business\u2026 At all times New York was considered to be a dangerous city, like all the other large American cities.
\nA pink taste in that cruel glance. A vision of the world transcends pinball machines on 42nd Street. The old film must be decoded. An intestinal occlusion that tends to replace any important cultural contribution\u2026 The CIA agent, long hair, black shades, etc., at the bar, exploiting Chibas= gestures\u2026 the bursting open of an old film and of conscience is the starting point of the arrival of blocs of association, that return at random, after the seen and the heard, hoping to make you smile.
\nA jazzy goodbye buried in the jukebox in this filthy dive, the El Coyote\u2026 all that ruins memories, a metabolic shock caresses twilight, like a spurt of sperm falling in flakes on the worn bath mat, a soft noise, a grey sound.
\nAs soon as you exaggerate and you take your desires for realities you start to invent. We catch all the signs drifting among reflections of waves whispering on the edges of clouds.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re making fun of my body!\u201d cried Lola Pozo as she readjusted her veil. That poor drag-queen was aging badly, her acting clothes were faded.
\nThat day, returning from Las Vegas, I noticed that the old Beatniks were resurfacing again, betting on the Hippy market, that all the crazy exiled avant-garde of the 50s were escaping from the Jewish psychoanalysts waiting rooms, and that it was really touching bottom\u2026 a neurotic and romantic wind blew in the halls of the hotel, not to mention the bad smells. Daily low blood pressure, filthy beings, eroded by rages and hatreds, and the hideous sounds of 23rd Street\u2026 things go so fast that questions and answers telescope, and that double vision turns into impenetrable dullness\u2026 the hideous images rise in your field of vision.
\nACTION \u2014 for a week now, professor Tchou Wrong reads and rereads the Supreme Public Servant\u2019s latest book. He always worked cold and practiced acupuncture by correspondence. He operated cold, scalpel in his left hand, the little red book in his right one. Obviously his successes were very limited \u2014 song week in Peking went on without incident \u2014 Paris and London were crushed by greyness, and the Soviet Union not yet hypnotized by Nixon seriously thought of joining the Common Market\u2026 here, assassins were working over time.
\nACTION \u2014 4 pm, the lounge at the Chelsea Hotel\u2026 they entered the lounge completely stoned, armed to the teeth, brandishing the Pink October pickets\u2026 they stank of ether, rubbing alcohol, some were tripping, THC and super pot, most of them were high on amphetamines\u2026 originally they wanted a Housing Project for themselves on 9th Ave, but they decided to start with the Chelsea Hotel and the YMCA swimming pool\u2026 automatic-gun shots between the legs of bathers lying under tanning lamps, grenades thrown into the pool\u2026 hundreds of bloody bodies floated in the water, some hung on diving boards\u2026 pale green-blue water turning red, purple\u2026 bullet-riddled bodies covered with grenade shards lay on the steps leading to the steam-baths, Fag Cruise Row\u2026 life-guards were nailed onto the doors of cabins\u2026 mirrors were shattered, grenades were thrown into elevator shafts like rosary beads\u2026 puddles of blood everywhere\u2026 they entered the hotel lobby \u2014 pictures painted by masters, bought cheap, were riddled with bullets, telephone operators were killed on their chairs, the manager was hacked to death \u2026 the black doormen were chased into the cellars of the hotel by a small group armed with hatchets and electric saws\u2026 maids were murdered on the staircase \u2014 the doors of rooms were bashed in, dynamited, a rock group that was rehearsing was machine-gunned, the singer bends his knees swallowing his last remolo, the drummer takes burning flames in his eyes, fire licks away his face, another group is armed with flame-throwers\u2026 people are killed in their bathtubs, in their showers, sitting on their toilets, some in their beds, others are thrown out of the windows\u2026 children are not spared\u2026 some try to escape onto the balcony, terraces, emergency stairs, hanging gardens, etc \u2014 shots tear through chests, stomachs, backs, tear off heads, marmalades of brains on the walls, guts\u2026 An artist falls holding his palette, a guy finishing his best-seller (I was a Hippy before the letter) falls on his nose on his typewriter, burst apart, twisted, smoking\u2026 the old couturier and his dogs and his chicks are axed in the hall, the Caucasian poetess opens her big mouth for the last time while her Cuban lover rolls like a gazelle against the wall\u2026 white nylon carpets are covered in blood\u2026 artists offer money to the killers, models and actresses offer their bodies to the sanguinary hoodlums\u2026 then it was the turn of the bar and the restaurant the El Coyote\u2026 I rejoiced over the fate of the bar and the restaurant, I liked it\u2026 An Italo-American, Number 1 on the Hit Parade was gunned down holding his orange juice\u2026 the Spanish waiters had collapsed in the straw and Vagina Souffle\u2026 \u201cOle! Ole!\u201d I screamed\u2026
\n\u201cYou dig, people don\u2019t think, they only repeat what they hear\u201d\u2026
\n\u201cI didn\u2019t make you say that\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cAntonio! fucks! Give me the wine chart!\u201d
\n\u201cSi Senor!\u201d
\nAn incident among so many others \u2014 and two steps away, at Madison Square Garden, the mentally handicapped people of the American Communist Party claim that Socialism is on the march \u2014 Maurice Chevalier arrives on the Concord which will later, be turned back, a forced landing in Switzerland\u2026 Then the swami throws his lighted cigarette into the mouth of the semi-artist who cries: \u201cGood God! I don\u2019t fear anything you old blow-jobber!\u201d\u2026 a German face-lifter bursts into tears, he just missed his thirteenth head transplant.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Claude P\u00e9lieu : KALI YUG EXPRESS Translated by Mary Beach (continued\u2026) A PROGRAMMED DREAM The technician sprays toxic and lethal gases. The CEO shuffles a few pages and starts to speak. \u201cGentlemen, the American...<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[91,96,804,103],"tags":[247,809,512],"class_list":["post-4637","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","category-prose","category-summer-reading","category-translation","tag-claude-pelieu","tag-kali-yug-express","tag-mary-beach"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4637","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4637"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4637\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4643,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4637\/revisions\/4643"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4637"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4637"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pierrejoris.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4637"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}